


The Apostate's Templar (Hawkquisition: Part II)

by rannadylin



Series: Hawkquisition [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Elves, F/M, Ferelden, Red Lyrium, Red Templars, Refugees, Skyhold, The Hinterlands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-21
Updated: 2015-05-21
Packaged: 2018-03-31 14:11:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3981031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rannadylin/pseuds/rannadylin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pregnant and bored, Hawke insists on going with the Inquisitor to investigate a source of red lyrium about which her brother Carver, escorting elven mage Merrill as she helps refugee elves escape the fighting in the Free Marches, has written to her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wherein family sticks together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke is getting bored at Skyhold...just in time for a letter with a lead she may want to follow up on.

****  
Hawkquisition Part II: The Apostate's Templar

**Chapter 1**

_Wherein family sticks together_

“Really, my dear,” the former First Enchanter drawled in her superior tone of voice, “you’re little better than a hedge mage, aren’t you? Raised by an apostate without ever setting foot inside a Circle; it’s a wonder you haven’t burned down any Chantries yourself as yet.”

Hawke and Fenris exchanged a glance that said she agreed with what she knew he was thinking: Either they had overstayed their welcome, or their hostess had. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, accepting Vivienne’s invitation to tea on her balcony overlooking Skyhold’s courtyard. It was, at the least, a nice view. And very fine tea: green, with a hint of bergamot and a spice - cardamom? - that even Fenris seemed to be enjoying. But the view would be nicer from the center of the sparring ring in the courtyard if this conversation went on much longer.

Hawke couldn’t resist a response to Vivienne’s jabs, however. “No, my apostate father was very specific about _not_ burning down Chantries when he trained us to control our magic. And since my friend who destroyed Kirkwall’s Chantry lies dead at _my_ hand, I think you can rest assured that Malcolm Hawke’s lessons were not lost on me. And--”

“We really should be going,” Fenris interrupted at the sight of Hawke’s flushed cheeks. “I’m not sure so much tea is good for a woman in my wife’s condition.”

Hawke took a deep breath and sighed away the tension of the moment. “Yes. Not good for my pregnant bladder, at the very least. Thank you for your time, Lady Vivienne. And the tea.”

* * *

“To think,” Hawke muttered as they passed through the library on their way out, “I used to wish my sister and I could have gone to the Circles. I think maybe hiding from the Templars was preferable, after all, to having to rub shoulders with _her_ like.”

“Mages like her are probably why there are so many abominations,” Fenris grumbled. “I imagine the Circles are filled with Rage demons in her wake.”

“Ah,” piped a voice from the nearby nook, “you’ve been visiting Madame de Fer, I see.”

Hawke looked up. “Oh. Dorian. Yes. Still debating whether it was worth the tea.”

“Another mage,” Fenris observed, narrowing his eyes at Dorian. “And from your accent, Tevinter. What are you doing here?”

“Saving the world. Aren’t we all?” Dorian Pavus shrugged and eyed the elf appreciatively. “And you are…?”

Hawke cleared her throat while slipping her arm through Fenris’. “My husband, Fenris. He doesn’t really like mages. Dorian’s all right, though, dear. Not a magister, not a blood mage, horrible fashion sense and inexcusably pleased with himself most of the time, but you can trust him.”

“Hm,” Fenris grunted noncomittally. “If you say so.”

Dorian sniffed. “As if _you_ know anything about fashion, Hawke. I see you’ve still not sewn the sleeve back on that tunic…”

“It’ll only fit for a few more weeks anyway,” she shrugged. “That reminds me, I have to see what sort of robes they have in the Undercroft. I’m used to a little more armor than most mages, but the baby objects.”

“While you’re here,” Dorian noted, “Leliana was looking for you. Seems a bird brought a message addressed to Lady Hawke. It’s upstairs, in the Rookery.”

Hawke nodded. “I may as well go and see it now, then. Thank you.”

“You go ahead,” Fenris said. “I want to go find Varric. Maybe he can talk me out of murdering that mage.”

“Not you,” Hawke added, to Dorian’s wide-eyed look. “I think he means Vivienne. Go on, love. It’s not as if _I’m_ prepared to talk you out of it at the moment, anyway.”

“As for you, Tevinter,” Fenris said without looking back as he turned to go down the stairs, “no flirting with my wife.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it!” Dorian returned with a mock-wounded expression.

“Also,” Hawke added when Fenris was out of earshot, “no more lecherous glances at my husband, Dorian.”

“You are no fun, Hawke. I can’t help it. He’s just too _pretty_.”

“I am well aware,” she smiled sweetly and went on upstairs.

* * *

Fenris and Varric found her later in the gardens, slouching on a bench near the gazebo as she stared unseeing at the letter in her hand. They sat on either side of her, each trying quite unsubtly to read it over her shoulders. “Bad news, Hawke?” Fenris asked first.

“Mm. Strange news. Surprising, some of it. Maybe even foreboding, and there are parts _you_ may like less than I do. But no, overall, I don’t think it’s bad news. Here, see for yourself.” She handed him the letter and he read it, while Varric now squirmed at being _two_ shoulders away from trying to read along. When Fenris barked a short laugh and “Wouldn’t you know it!” the dwarf could stand it no longer and said, “Come on, Hawke. Tell me.”

“It’s from Carver,” she said.

“Okay, that explains the strange-surprising-foreboding bit. Maybe a little more detail, though? Help me out here. What’s Junior got himself into this time?”

“When I came to Skyhold the first time,” she began, “Fenris and I had been investigating the red lyrium the templars in Kirkwall had started using. I didn’t want my brother getting mixed up in that, so when I left I asked Aveline to find a way to get him out of the city.”

“You could have asked me,” Fenris grumbled.

Hawke blushed. “I know. I could have done a lot of things better, my wolf. But did you really want to be knocking heads with Carver when you were still healing?”

“Point taken.”

“So it turns out that Aveline’s clever plan…”

“Never a phrase that bodes well,” interjected Varric.

“Tell me about it. She sent him with Merrill.”

“What - to help the refugee elves?” Varric asked. “I got a letter from Daisy about doing that.”

Hawke nodded. “She was just about to leave Kirkwall when I did. She stayed a while longer, at my request, to make sure Fenris’ wound had healed -” a snort from the elf at this - “and when she moved on, Carver went with her.”

“So either Aveline has suddenly become quite the clever matchmaker,” Varric said, eliciting chuckles from both his friends at the improbability of that, “or she _completely unaware_ sent your brother off on a quest to guard the girl he’s had a crush on since he first saw her perform blood magic?”

“To be fair,” Hawke laughed, “I really doubt the blood magic had that much to do with it. It’s more to do with Merrill needing looking after so often. Carver likes to feel he’s needed.”

“In this case, he probably actually is,” said Varric.

“Both of them need looking after,” said Fenris, nodding at the letter.

“So it seems,” Hawke sighed. “They ended up in Ferelden, near where Merrill’s clan had stayed before the Blight. But leaving the templars -”

“Does that make him an _apostate_ templar?” Varric interrupted.

“It appears,” Fenris drawled, “he is an apostate’s templar.”

“Hush, both of you. What he is, is a templar who’s been a templar long enough that he…” Her voice faltered. “You know. The lyrium addiction.”

“Is he having trouble finding a source there?” Varric asked.

“Generally, no. This is the foreboding part: Merrill was following a lead to buy some for him and the man tried to sell her _red_ lyrium.”

“Well, shit,” said Varric.

Fenris nodded. “Even with Corypheus gone, the red lyrium has spread far enough to be still a threat.”

“Junior’s okay?” Varric asked. “And Daisy?”

“Yes, they do both have _some_ sense,” Hawke smiled. “He wrote to me because he thought the Inquisition would want to follow up on it. Which of course they will. I’d better go tell Thayer now.”

 


	2. Wherein demons are dealt with

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Hawkquisition meets up with Carver and Merrill in the Hinterlands and finds there may be more than they thought to this red lyrium lead...

** **

**Hawkquisition Part II: The Apostate's Templar  
Chapter 2**

_Wherein demons are dealt with_

Inquisitor Thayer Trevelyan was in the Undercroft when they found him, inspecting a new set of knives Harritt was forging. Hawke handed him the letter, summarizing it to him while she went to look for robes in her ever-expanding size.

"Red lyrium in Ferelden, eh?" Thayer said, glancing over Carver's words. "There's more of that left behind than I'd like. We can certainly go take a look."

"Good," said Hawke, frowning at the Inquisition's collection of light armor. "I'm going with you."

"What?!" Fenris burst out. "Hawke, you can't. You're -"

"Not yet too pregnant to move, once I find suitable robes. What are these, anyway, Thayer? Jackets, trousers – do mages not wear robes any more or is this just an Inquisition fashion trend?"

"Look behind that stack of leather. I'm fairly sure Fiona's people brought something of the sort with them. Or our craftsmen can design something to suit you. The mages of my inner circle – well, they have their own ideas about fashion," Thayer said.

Varric chuckled. "Understatement of the year, Inquisitor."

Thayer smiled. "Hawke, I appreciate your offer, and it would be my honor to fight at your side again, but this seems like something my people and I can handle easily enough."

"Then think of  _us_  as your people, not your guests. It's my brother we're talking about," Hawke said, absently running her hands over a soft woolen robe. "All the family I have left. I mean," she corrected herself at Fenris' arched eyebrow, "all that's left of the family I didn't get to choose. And Uncle Gamlen doesn't count, because if I ever have to refer to my uncle as all the family I have left…"

Thayer glanced at the letter again. "It doesn't sound as though your brother is in any danger, though."

Fenris stepped forward. "Perhaps not yet. Knowing Carver, not to mention Merrill, they soon likely will be. Hawke is right, Inquisitor."

"She is?" Varric gaped at the elf. Hawke looked scarcely less surprised herself.

"Besides, Carver wrote to his sister, not to the Inquisition. You'll want her along."

Hawke nodded, but before she could speak, Fenris continued: "On one condition. She doesn't go without me."

Thayer looked the elf over appraisingly. "Not again, you mean," he finally said, remembering the sad-eyed Hawke who had arrived at Skyhold alone to advise him about Corypheus.

"Yes." Fenris met Hawke's eyes and held them in a sort of challenge that Varric and Thayer did their best to stay out of the way of, urgently looking about for something else to give their attention to.

She shook her head after a moment and said, "No. Not again. Of course you'll go too, my wolf."

Seeing that Hawke and Fenris had signed themselves up for this mission, Varric quickly volunteered as well. The Inquisitor laughed to find such a party all ready and waiting for him and decreed that they would leave as soon as Hawke's robes were ready.

* * *

A valiant effort from Skyhold's resident seamstress, with significant contributions from Harritt for the metalwork and Dagna for certain interesting runic insertions, saw Hawke's new robes ready just two days later. A high Orlesian waistline in a shift of darkened samite left room for her belly to swell, while a tabard of chain mail offered protection, under a wide sash of red wool that matched curiously well to her ribbon that Fenris always wore. Someone had even engraved her family crest on the armored plates over each shoulder. The skirt was slit, with leggings to go under it, so that she could ride: and ride they did, deep into the Hinterlands to find the village Carver had named.

On the outskirts of that tiny jumble of houses they found an even tinier collection of tents, housing a handful of elves, some Dalish, some city-born, one or two that might even have been escaped slaves, as Fenris quietly pointed out to Hawke, recognizing in them a constant wariness that had long been his own habit as well.

Two or three elf-children crept slowly closer, staring wide-eyed as the Inquisition party dismounted at the firepit that seemed to serve as a common area between all the tents. There was no sign of the apostate and her templar that they had come in search of, until suddenly a tent flap was pulled back and a familiar lilting voice emerged. "And remember, da'len, it will only get better if you stop bothering it! Do try to keep the bandages on this time!" Having thus admonished the tent's inhabitant, Merrill swung her head around to look where she was going and narrowly avoided colliding with a grinning Hawke, who had stepped toward the tent as soon as she heard the elf's voice and now caught her wide-eyed friend up in a hug.

"Hawke!" Merrill breathed out when her feet had regained contact with the ground, leaving her reeling just a bit as she stepped back. "Mythal'enaste! Where did you come from? If you aren't the last person I'd have expected to see here! And - Creators! Are you…?" She reached a hesitant hand toward Hawke's swelling belly, then caught herself and glanced up apologetically. "Sorry. I shouldn't touch. But Hawke!"

Hawke nodded to answer the question behind the elf's rambling, or one of them, at least.

"And Fenris," Merrill smiled brightly at the other elf. "It's good to see you're still alive."

"Er - yes," Fenris stammered, clearly taken aback. "I prefer it that way, as well."

"I mean," Merrill went on, "I did my best when Hawke asked me to look after you but I'm really not much of a healer. I'm glad I didn't just make it worse. Here you are up and walking! None the worse for wear, are you? And that's good, with a baby on the way!"

"A baby that wouldn't be on his way anywhere if you hadn't patched up his father for me," Hawke grinned; Fenris flushed and scowled; Merrill looked at Hawke a moment before bursting out in a wide-eyed "Oh!" and hiding a giggle behind her hand.

"So now you're patching up refugees," Varric observed, coming forward with the Inquisitor.

"Well, sometimes. They have no Keeper, no one else who knows any magic, actually. I don't know any healing magic but I can tend bandages well enough, I suppose. I do that when it's called for. Other things, as needed. Defend them when there's trouble. Actually, I…" she blushed and tugged at one of the tiny braids in her dark hair. "It's like they've come to see me as their Keeper, Hawke. Not half of them are even Dalish, but they all look to me whenever there are things to decide. It's - it's -" she frowned at her friend. "How do  _you_  do it? All those years we followed you around Kirkwall, everyone did the same thing to you. I never realized how hard that must have been for you till they started looking at me that way."

"Well, well," Varric smiled. "Our little Daisy's all grown up and in charge."

"Elgar'nan, I hope not. I'm just - Carver and I are just helping these people get somewhere safe. Someone else should lead them. Oh! Is that what brings you here, Hawke? I mean - not to lead them - that is, are you here because of Carver? He said he was writing to you."

Hawke nodded. "The Inquisitor agreed we should find out where this red lyrium is coming from." She waved to Thayer, who stood with his arms crossed and a crooked grin slowly growing as he watched the friends' reunion. "Merrill, meet Lord Thayer Trevelyan, Herald of Andraste and all that."

"The one with the magical mark!" Merrill was practically bouncing in excitement now. "Oh, can I see it? We've heard stories, but I know how people exaggerate stories - well, how Varric exaggerates, at least - and I didn't know what to believe."

Thayer graciously raised his left hand to her with a slight flourish, turning his head to ask Hawke, "Is she always like this?" All three of his companions nodded, Varric chuckling, as Merrill took Thayer's hand in her two small pale hands, running one red-painted nail delicately over the faint green glow.

"Does it  _hurt_?" Merrill asked, prodding gently at his palm.

"Not really," Thayer shrugged. "With Corypheus gone, the Anchor seems to stay dormant, except when near a Fade rift. You wouldn't believe how many of those we're still finding even this long after closing the Breach."

"We heard rumors of one near here, actually," Merrill said. "I wanted to go see it, but Carver didn't think that was a good idea." She brightened. "Maybe now that you're here, we could all go see it together?"

"Excellent idea," Thayer grinned. "Mind you, if you want a long look, you'll have to get there before me or it'll soon be gone. And look from a considerable distance, unless you  _like_  demons." A snort from Fenris, laugh-turned-cough from Hawke, and outright laughter from Varric interrupted this line of thought. "What?" Thayer asked, looking around at them in bewilderment.

"I thought you'd read my book, Inquisitor," Varric said.

Thayer frowned in thought for a moment, then: "Oh - right! You're  _that_  Merrill. Er, forget I said anything."

* * *

They were sitting around the common fire, Hawke recounting for Merrill all that had happened since she left Kirkwall, when Carver returned to the camp. He wore no Templar armor, just a sleeveless jerkin of the sort he had favored before joining the Order, and trousers that had been patched in places. Two pails of water swung from a pole balanced over his shoulders, which seemed to have broadened considerably since Hawke had last seen them without the armor. "Merrill," he called, "I saw Linian at the stream. Did she tell - " Then, catching sight of his sister as she glanced up at him, Carver jolted to a stop, causing the pails to spill to the ground as he lost his hold on the pole. "Maker!" he swore as he grabbed futilely at one falling pail. "Look what you made me do!"

"I'm sorry!" Merrill said, jumping up to help. "What did I make you do?"

Carver rushed to pick up the pails before she could reach him. "Nothing. Not you. Now I'll have to go fill them all over again. I just - I wasn't expecting company."

"But Hawke came because you wrote! Didn't you, Hawke?" Merrill smiled back at her friend.

Hawke nodded, wanting to run over and embrace her brother but hesitating when she saw the tension in his grip on the pails, the tight set of his jaw. So she settled for a more restrained greeting. "It's good to see you, Carver."

"Liz," he frowned. "You got my letter."

"I did."

"I didn't actually expect you to come. Just thought your Inquisition friends would want to know about the red lyrium."

"We did," Thayer stood and strode forward, holding out a hand in greeting. "I'm Thayer Trevelyan, head of the Inquisition. Thank you for the tip."

Carver hesitated a moment before setting the pails back down and shaking the Inquisitor's hand. "Right. Glad to help. You want me to take you to the guy who was selling it tonight?"

"Actually," Thayer said, "let that keep till tomorrow. I hear there's a Fade rift in the area? The sooner we close that, the better."

"Oh good!" Merrill clapped her hands. "I've been wanting to go see it!"

Carver looked pained, holding out a callused hand towards her. "Merrill. We talked about this. It isn't safe."

"Well of course not," she answered. "That's why we're going to go close it, isn't it? And I've never seen one, but there must be magic involved. I want a look at it. These sorts of things ought to be studied."

"From a safe distance," Varric pointed out. "A very, very safe distance. There'll be demons, Daisy."

"No making deals with them," Fenris growled.

"Dealing with them?" Merrill looked back and forth between them, her pale face reddening. "You can't really think I'd - oh, Dread Wolf take you all!" She whirled and flitted off, disappearing into the nearest tent.

Carver, thought Hawke, looked, if anything, even more hurt than Merrill, but he managed to sound calm enough as he said, "We may as well get ready. She'll still want to go; she'll be back as soon as we set out."

* * *

It was a strained and silent sort of trip as they walked out to the Fade rift half an hour later. Merrill was still not speaking to anyone. Carver was speaking to his sister mostly in insults, which occasionally earned him a sharp retort from Fenris, which only made the younger Hawke retreat further into his sullenness. He seemed to avoid looking at her too; between that and the modest drape of her new robes, he apparently hadn't yet noticed her pregnancy. Pondering when and how to tell her surly brother he was soon to be an uncle, without making it sound like yet another way he would forever be in her shadow, Lisbet Hawke fell back to walk with Varric and Thayer. The Inquisitor quietly observed, "Little brothers, eh? Bit of a chip on his shoulder?"

"You sound as if you have some experience with them," Hawke sighed. "Brothers of your own?"

"Actually, Hawke, in my family  _I'm_  the little brother," Thayer grinned. "Two sisters and two brothers before me. I was horribly spoiled and abominably cheeky. Which is probably why my parents thought a career in the Chantry would do me good. Although I don't think  _Herald_  was the career path they had in mind." He gestured with his marked hand, and then noticed its glow had increased. "Oh, look, I think we're getting close. Carver," he called out, "this rift of yours anywhere near?"

"Up ahead," Carver nodded. "Maybe five minutes more?"

"Huh," Thayer mused. "According to the Anchor, it's either closer than that or bigger than I expected."

"Big enough to backlight that hill up ahead?" Varric pointed out the silhouette against a pale green sky.

"That's not right!" Carver frowned. "It shouldn't be that close. It wasn't yesterday. I've been keeping an eye on it, just in case."

"Get ready then!" Thayer shouted, taking the lead. "Time this was dealt with. Fenris, Carver, with me. Merrill, look but don't touch, all right? Varric, Hawke…"

"Go on, Inquisitor," Hawke answered, raising her staff. "We've got your back."

They crested the hill and saw the valley beyond it lit with the eery green light of the Fade, dripping through the hole in the sky far at the valley's end. Between them and the rift, dozens of demons advanced towards them -

No! Not towards  _them_ , Thayer saw in a flash that stopped his heart for a moment. Running along the valley, fleeing the demons, an elven woman - young, barely more than a girl - stumbled towards them. Blood marked her face and hands and the tears in her dress; she saw them suddenly with eyes wider than even an elf's should be, and cried out, redoubling her efforts to run their direction.

Hawke readied a healing spell. "I've got her. Merrill, keep the demons away from us, all right? She doesn't look badly hurt but I can't fend them off and heal her wounds at the same time." Merrill nodded grimly, and soon Hawke saw roots spiraling out of the ground to grip the demons nearest the girl, giving her time to put more distance between herself and her pursuers.

Meanwhile, Carver and Fenris were fighting together at the front of the horde, Carver bearing the brunt of the attack, shouting to draw their attention to himself, weakening the demons' magical attacks with his templar defences, while Fenris seemed to be everywhere at once, visible only by the faint glow of lyrium when he paused to scythe through the gathered demons. Thayer appeared out of the shadows to strike from behind at the rage demon about to fall upon Carver; then the Inquisitor was gone again, reappearing soon to slash at a terror approaching Merrill. Varric stood guard over Hawke and the injured elven girl, shouting gleeful taunts each time Bianca discouraged a demon from approaching.

Within minutes, it was over, and Thayer flashed a grin at Merrill as he sheathed his blades. "All right, Merrill. Take a good long look before I close that thing."

Merrill approached the Fade rift on tiptoe, hands clasped under her chin in wonder. "It's...awfully big, isn't it? And green. And shiny."

"Yes, it's all that," Thayer conceded. "It's also very good at dumping demons into our world, so we should...er, you really shouldn't  _touch_  it, Merrill."

She had crept right up to it, one hand raised, and Thayer started towards her, but Carver caught up first, grabbing at her outstretched arm with a "No! Merrill, don't."

She froze and stared at him over her shoulder, her arm locked in place, till Carver suddenly flushed and let go of her. "Sorry. I just - you could get hurt. Listen to the Inquisitor, Merrill."

"Of course I was!" the elf huffed. "It's all right, Carver. I'm just looking."

"And I do hope you've seen enough," Thayer stepped in, "because I'm closing this thing before the next wave of demons arrives." He stretched out his marked hand toward the Rift, straining against some invisible tug of whatever magic had rent the sky, till at last with one final effort he wrenched his hand away and the spell was broken, the sky healed as if the Rift had never been.

Merrill gasped in delight. "Oh, that was incredible! Can you do it again?"

Thayer sighed, shaking out his hand. "And again and again, as often as we find them. Seems to be my lot in life."

"Merrill, Carver," Hawke called from the other end of the valley, where she was still kneeling by the injured girl. "She's asking for you."

The party gathered around the elf girl, taking in her thin limbs, her torn clothes, her vallaslin-marked face now doubly marked by cuts and scratches. "Linian?" Merrill named her, looking surprised. "What are you doing out here?"

Carver knelt along with his sister, glancing over the elf's wounds, which were slowly closing up under the slight blue glow of Hawke's healing spell. "Who hurt you? The demons?"

"N-no," Linian stammered, seeming to relax when she recognized the templar and the apostate elf. "I...I saw the red ones."

"Red ones?" Carver echoed.

"Huh. Red templars?" Varric guessed.

"I was looking for Emmen," Linian explained. "Merrill, he's been gone for five days now!"

"Creators. Has it been that long?" Merrill winced.

"I had to find him," Linian insisted. "We're to be bonded next month. What if he doesn't - What if he's - " she broke down in tears.

"Shhh," Hawke patted the girl's shoulder comfortingly. "Help is here now. Tell us what you can. How did this start?"

"Emmen," Linian repeated. "He found...found a cave, he said. A ruin. He said he found something there, something that would bring a good price in the village. And it did. He showed me the money he got for it. Mythal, it would have been enough! But he said there was more where that came from. He was going back to the cave for more to sell, but it's been days and days and he's…" Tears flowed again as she choked up.

"You went looking for him on your own?" Fenris said. "That was foolish. And brave."

"Did you find any sign of him?" Merrill asked.

Linian shook her head. "Only the red ones. Horrible...shems with red things growing on their skin, some of them more the...the  _things_  than the men! They heard me and I ran. They cut me, but I got away. Only I ran here, and the demons…" She was sobbing again, and there was no stopping it this time. Merrill wrapped her arms around the girl and started whispering to her, Elvish words of comfort, Hawke presumed.

"Red templars it is," Thayer concluded.

"Do you think they have Emmen?" Carver asked.

"Could be. Could be a coincidence, too, just two different calamities," Thayer shrugged. "But the sooner we deal with one, I suspect the sooner the other will be resolved as well. Merrill, let's get the girl back to camp and then see if she can point us towards these red ones…"


	3. Wherein lyrium tattoos prove useful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Hawkquisition meets up with Carver and Merrill in the Hinterlands and finds there may be more than they thought to this red lyrium lead...continued!

****  
Hawkquisition Part II: The Apostate's Templar  
Chapter 3

_Wherein lyrium tattoos prove useful_

The Red Templars' camp was abandoned. Recently abandoned, from the look of it. Merrill had stayed behind in the refugee camp to tend to Linian, while the rest of them set out again as soon as they could, following the girl's directions to where she had been attacked. Varric and Thayer carefully checked the camp for traps before the rest of them were allowed anywhere near, but it proved disappointing. Not only was the place clean of traps, but they found nothing to tell them where the camp's inhabitants might have gone.

"We're sure this is the place?" Hawke asked.

"Has to be," Carver shot back. "The stream over there, that pile of rocks we passed - just like Linian described. Her 'red ones' had to be somewhere near here, and it's not like someone else would have camped so close to them."

"Fine," Hawke said. "Maybe they'll come back."

"So, what, we're just going to take over their camp and wait for them?"

"Half a good plan," Thayer said. "Leave their camp be; set our own up there." He pointed up to a grassy ridge overlooking the place. Trees grew near the edge, with one particularly large oak spreading shade out over it. "We'll set watches. If they come back tonight, we'll be ready for them."

* * *

 

They made themselves as comfortable on the overlook as one can when the comfort of a fire must be avoided. There was bread and dried meat in their packs, at least, and skins of water quickly drained. Carver rose to collect the empty skins, saying, "See, I knew I'd have to go for water again after you made me spill it all, Sis."

But his words seemed to lack their usual challenge. Taking that as a good sign, Hawke scrambled to her feet as well. "Well then, if it's all my fault, I'd better come and help you."

Carver looked startled. "I - well, fine. If you want to. Be my guest." He turned and strode off toward the stream without waiting for her, while she gathered the last of the skins and hurried to catch up. Tall as she was, her brother had long since outgrown her and was making no effort to adjust his long strides for her.

He had already started dunking the skins in the stream by the time she got there. Hawke started to crouch to fill one of her own, but cringed and straightened up again when her back objected to this. "Ugh. Here. I'm going to have to just hand mine to you to fill."

"What's stopping you?" Carver frowned, but it was more of a curious frown than the scowl she expected from him. And oh, look, if that wasn't a perfect opening to break the news…

"Well, for one thing," she said, "Varric may have to stop calling  _you_  Junior."

He froze in the middle of lowering a skin to the water. "Not that I would object to losing the dumb nickname," he said, "but what are you talking about?"

"Just that soon someone else may need that name," Hawke smiled slyly, resting one hand on her belly and the other on her aching back. "I know how Varric objects to having nicknames  _recommended_ , but I can't resist suggesting he could call you  _Uncle_."

He stared. She held his eyes for several heartbeats before they flickered down to the bump just visible now beneath her robes, and quickly back up to meet her eyes again. "You're kidding," he said finally.

"Do I not  _look_  pregnant? I thought I was finally starting to show…"

Maker, he was actually beginning to blush now. "Lisbet. You're...not kidding. You're having a baby?" She nodded, bursting into a smile. "Er...you and the elf, I assume?"

"What? Of course!" she retorted. "He has a name, you know. Fenris. Or brother-in-law, to you."

Carver scowled. "Whatever. So...it's an elf baby?"

Of all the responses she had imagined, this was not among them. Hawke had to laugh. "Oh, my idiot baby brother." She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her belly. "It's just a baby. Just your nephew. He won't even look elven, from what I hear. Human traits are dominant. Maker," she mused to herself, "I hope mine aren't  _too_  dominant. Let him at least have his father's  _eyes_ …and maybe his  _hands_..."

Carver made a face at his sister's wistful expression. "So. A baby Hawke. That's...that's great, Liz. I mean, really. Congratulations."

"C'mere," she said, catching his arm, still damp from the stream, and pulling him to stand close to her. "He doesn't kick yet or anything, but he does move a little...I think. I'm not entirely sure if that's what I'm feeling. Put your hand here. I don't know if you can feel anything. Fenris says he can't, yet. But maybe...soon…"

Carver rested a tentative hand where she showed him, probably too lightly to feel anything even if the upcoming Hawke Junior had been kicking hard enough to wake his mother when she slept. It didn't matter. The corners of her brother's mouth slowly turned up as he waited, until finally Lisbet threw caution to the wind and her arms around her brother. "Carver," she sighed.

"You should name him after me," he poked at her sides, making her drop the hug.

"What, and disappoint Varric?" she teased. "He keeps hinting that my firstborn should be a Varric."

"What if it's a girl?"

Hawke tilted her head to the side as if considering it. "Varrica is just as good a name as Carverina, I think." That earned her a splash from the stream. And her brother's arm around her shoulder as they walked back to camp.

* * *

 

Thayer and Carver drew the first watch. Perched on one massive branch of the ancient oak, they looked down over the empty camp. The Inquisitor, more familiar with stealth than the younger Hawke, winced when Carver's impatient movements made the leaves around them rustle, and soon found himself passing the time by showing the younger man how to move, or at least sit in a tree, more silently.

It was fortunate that those lessons had been learned by the time the Red Templars began returning to their camp. Thayer signaled to Carver to keep still (needlessly; the boy was a quick study and soundlessly narrowed his eyes at the Inquisitor as if to point out just how still he was already being) and began counting the enemies below as they approached. Three, four guardsmen looking as if they had not long been under the influence of the red lyrium; two marksmen on their flanks - that many should be no problem for the Inquisition's forces to take on now. Oh, but more were coming.  _Andraste preserve us,_  he thought when he saw a Red Horror - one of those soldiers so far gone that, as Linian had said, he was more the red lyrium than the man he had been, now. That would complicate things. And behind him -

"No!" Carver shouted suddenly in Thayer's ear, leaping down from the branch, grabbing his sword from where it rested at the base of the great oak, and scuttling down the ridge, heading right for the Red Templar camp. Thayer swore under his breath and paused only long enough to shake the rest of their companions awake before he slipped into the shadows and crept after Carver with his twin blades drawn.

Carver had one marksman and two of the guards down by the time Fenris' ghostly blade joined him, its edges glinting with fire that had the look of one of Lisbet's spells. The mage herself remained on the ridge with Varric, crossbow bolts raining down alongside bolts of ice. Methodically their combined fire took down one Red Templar after another, while the swords of Hawke's brother and husband kept the Horror busy. Crystalline deposits of red lyrium scattered the ground where the Horror walked. Carver ducked just in time when a burst of the red crystals spewed forth from the Horror's mouth, and then Thayer leapt upon the monstrosity from behind, fixing his knives in the back of its neck and dangling there a moment to twist them.

One last burst of ice from Hawke and the Horror finally started to topple to the ground. Just then, as Carver was swinging his greatsword to finish it off, a Red Templar Shadow appeared from nowhere to bury its knife in Carver's side. Gasping, he altered his swing, bringing the sword around to meet the new threat. His sister shrieked as she hurled a bolt of ice at the Shadow, and then she and Varric were scrambling down the ridge to join the others even as the last of the Red Templars fell still.

"Carver!" Hawke cried out, kneeling beside him despite her back's protests.

Thayer was already inspecting the wound - and the broken knife that lay nearby. "The tip's broken off," he noted. "Still inside him. That's going to be a problem."

"Oh, you idiot," Hawke gripped her brother's hand, blinking tears from her eyes. "What were you thinking?"

"Mer - Merrill," Carver gasped, turning to look in the direction from which the Red Templars had arrived. "One of them. Carrying her. I had to - to - "

Varric followed Carver's line of sight. "Shit. He's right. Look, she's not the only one. They must have raided the refugee camp for prisoners while we were on our way here."

Hawke looked back and forth between the still forms of the elves at the edge of the camp, and her brother, almost as still already. "I can't - Oh Maker, I should check on them, but Carver - what can we do? The blade…My healing spells won't do any good with it still in him."

"Hawke." Fenris crouched beside her to lay a hand on her shoulder. "I have an idea. It might help. I don't know."

She looked up gratefully. "What is it?"

"Something Isabela once suggested, actually." His eyes flicked from Carver to Lisbet, one eyebrow raised. "But I've never actually tried this. It might make it worse, I don't know."

Hawke's eyes widened as she realized what he was referring to. "The knife fight she used to talk about…" He nodded. Hawke took a deep breath. "All right. Try it."

He was already stripping the gauntlet from his hand before she finished speaking. "Delicate work, this…" he murmured.

And it was. She had never seen him move so  _slowly_  when his markings were active. Lyrium flared to life; in its glow his arm seemed to fade from view, and then slowly, precisely, his hand, or the echo of it, was on - no, beneath - no,  _within_  Carver's side, directly through the hole the knife had made, a hole through which no hand, however long and slender the fingers, should have been able to fit. With a look of fierce concentration, he moved his hand ever so slightly for what felt like hours, until finally he said without lifting his eyes from the wound, "I think I've got it."

Hawke had only half let out the breath she hadn't realized she was holding when he added, "But this will no doubt hurt. I have to phase back in just enough of my fingers to grip the metal, then pull it out as near the original cut as I can, lest I cut him deeper. My body may be able to pass through his flesh in this state, but I can't extend that to the fragment of the knife like I can with my gauntlets."

She nodded as the color drained from her face. "Do what you have to."

"Maybe," Varric said gently, "we should go check on Merrill while…"

Hawke shook her head quickly, then glanced back at the elven prisoners, then back at Carver. "I...maybe you're right. Fenris…?"

"You won't lose this one, little bird," he said with grim determination. "Go see to her."

Thayer helped her to her feet, then returned to kneel by Carver's side, ready with a wad of bandages to close the wound as soon as the fragment was removed. Hawke and Varric hurried over to the prisoners. "She's still breathing," Hawke said with relief as she knelt by her friend. "Unconscious."

"Can you do anything?" Varric asked.

"I'm going to check for injuries first, then see if I can rouse her. You check on the other prisoners."

She was healing a nasty cut on Merrill's temple - perhaps from the blow that knocked her unconscious? - when they heard a sharp cry of pain from the other side of the camp. "It's all right!" Thayer quickly called out. "Looks like he just fainted from the pain, but the fragment's out. We'll patch him up, good as new."

"Oh Carver," she sighed as tears of relief flowed freely. Hawke gently brushed a lock of hair away from the Dalish mage's eyes, checking for further injury. "You're going to have to think of a less drastic way to show your affection when this is over."

* * *

 

"Fenris."

They had remained in the Red Templars' camp rather than returning to their bedrolls atop the ridge, not wanting to move the injured. Hawke had managed to rouse Merrill, who was now groggily helping her tend to the other elves' wounds, after the two of them had both had a good look at Carver's bandages, Hawke pouring more of her healing magic into him, till the women were satisfied that he would recover. Fenris was taking his turn keeping watch over Carver. Turning at the sound of his own name, he saw Carver's eyes open, watching him hesitantly, flicking away every so often. "Yes?" the elf replied, stepping closer and seating himself by Hawke's brother.

"Is…" Carver gasped, caught his breath and tried again. "Is Merrill all right?"

"She is up and busy, if moving slower than usual," Fenris answered. "She is haler than you are, that is certain."

"Haler. Right. Apparently I'm also 'haler' than I'd have been if you weren't here, is that right?"

"Fortunately, Isabela's plan worked."

"Well, I don't see Isabela here, so it's you I'm thanking. For my life."

"I wouldn't let Hawke lose you, after all the others."

"Yeah. I get that." Carver turned his head, seeking out his sister - or Merrill? Fenris wasn't sure - among those tending to the injured elves. "Fenris. You love my sister, don't you?"

"Of course," he answered, arching his eyebrows in surprise.

"I'm sorry I was an ass to you at the wedding," Carver blurted out.

The corner of Fenris' mouth twitched as he said, "Just at the wedding?"

"Don't push your luck," Carver grinned. "Look, it's probably none of my business, but...How did you even end up with my sister?"

Fenris gave this some thought. "She waited."

"What?"

"Mostly, she waited. I was a fool and a coward and she waited for me to realize...Well, she waited a long time. I am fortunate that she did."

Carver scowled, though the effort seemed to pain him. "So, what, it was my sister's idea all along? Typical."

"Oh, I had ideas of my own," Fenris smirked. "I feared to act on them, however, until Hawke pulled me along with her. I had not dared to think that she would want me at her side, yet here I am. Your sister has a rare gift, to see a person's heart, whatever their flaws. Slaves, blood mages, abominations - she pulls us all along with her, one way or another, and we are our better selves when we walk her path." He met Carver's eyes suddenly, looking uncomfortable as he realized how much he had just said. "But it is not Hawke you wished to speak of, nor me, is it?"

Carver glanced back towards the women. "Not exactly. Maybe you feel like a better person when Lisbet's around, but when Merrill's around I feel like an idiot. Nothing I say comes out right."

"You say that as if you think I could do better. I thought we had established that I would not be your brother-in-law if I had not followed your sister's lead."

"So, what, I should just wait for Merrill to say something?"

Fenris snorted. "As if Merrill were anything like Hawke." At Carver's mournful look, the elf sighed impatiently. "Shall I fetch the girl here so you can talk to her properly? Perhaps Varric would compose a love poem for you?"

"No!" Carver blurted, round-eyed. "No, I…"

"Perhaps," Fenris concluded, "it's your sister you should be talking to about this, not me."

* * *

 

Thayer, checking the bodies of the fallen, had found among them a Red Templar marksman not quite dead. He seemed to have been merely stunned by one of Hawke's spells. By the time he regained consciousness, Thayer had him securely tied to the nearest tree and gagged. The man's eyes, stained red from the lyrium flowing through his veins, glared accusingly at them all as they moved around the camp. They left him to it, making sure the injured elves - and Carver - were all stable before they dealt with their prisoner.

They had gathered around Carver as Merrill recounted what had happened back at the refugee camp. "No one was killed, thank the Creators!" she assured them. "I think they only wanted prisoners, and they wanted us alive."

"But only a handful of prisoners," Fenris noted. "What about the rest of the refugees?"

"I told them to hide," Merrill said. "We saw the Red Templars coming but there wasn't time to put up real defences, and none of our people are fighters, not compared to  _them_  at least. So I told the people to run and hide, and they did, but some of them didn't run fast enough. The soldiers knocked them out and dragged them away."

"And you?" Hawke asked.

"Oh, I slowed them down as best I could, to give the people time to get to safety. I guess that didn't leave  _me_  time to get to safety, though," she laughed, apparently quite amused by her own predicament.

"I should have been there," Carver lamented.

"So they could knock you out too?" Merrill laid a hand on his shoulder. "No, no, you'd have had to fight them, but there were too many for us. Maybe they wouldn't have just tried to capture you. They'd have killed you, Carver, to get to the elves. It's better you were here. At least - " she glanced sadly at the bandages on his side, reaching a hand to almost touch them, "at least  _this_  can heal." Suddenly he reached up to grasp her hand, startling a tiny "Oh!" from the elf.

"But why did they attack the refugees in the first place?" Thayer wondered. "What did they want with prisoners?"

"Hostages?" Varric guessed.

"Who would they bargain with over elven refugees?" the Inquisitor said, unconvinced.

"Slaves?" Varric tried again.

"Likelier," Fenris agreed, "but I've not heard of Red Templars involved in the slave trade."

"And we've spent a lot of time hunting both," Hawke added.

"Well," Thayer decreed, "there is one way to find out. Let's see if Thunderstorm over there has any answers for us."

" _Thunderstorm?_ " Varric chuckled.

"My dear Master Tethras, do you think you're the only one qualified to give nicknames here? Look at how he glowers. A thunderstorm for certain. Be prepared for a drenching when I remove that gag."

* * *

 

Thayer was not far wrong, but the Red Templar probably wondered why the Inquisitor laughed so loudly and shot the dwarf such a look of triumph when the prisoner spit in his face shortly after the gag was removed. Wiping the spittle away with the gag itself, Thayer said, "Well now, Stormy. Looks like your little plan to sell off a few slaves to pay for your lyrium addiction has failed. Talk, and we might spare your life, for what that's worth at this point." He looked pointedly at the veins of red showing at the man's bare throat.

The so-called Stormy laughed bitterly. "Slaves? Shows what you know."

"Shows me I can check that off our list of hypotheses, at least," Thayer beamed. "Do go on."

The prisoner shook his head. "I owe you nothing."

"Have you seen an elf?" Merrill jumped in. The Red Templar shot her a disbelieving stare. "I mean, not me. Not him, either." Fenris huffed. "A boy went missing from our camp. Emmen. Did you take him?"

"Not gonna - ahh!" The prisoner squawked as sudden tendrils of vines spiraled up from the ground, gripping his legs, twisting up beneath his leather armor; and then the vines themselves were covered in ice, spiraling up in their wake. Merrill's spell, topped by Hawke's.

"I believe you have offended the ladies' delicate sensibilities," Thayer noted, pointedly studying his own fingernails. "Were I you, my friend, I would answer their questions before they become...upset."

"Gnh!" Stormy's teeth chattered as the ice crept up his arms and chest. "All right - fine - there was an elf. Came to Jek with some of the red stuff to sell. Unrefined, said he found it in a cave, that there was more where it came from. Gah!"

"Jek!" Merrill gasped, dropping her vine-spell. "Carver, wasn't that the dwarf that tried to sell us the red lyrium?"

Carver, leaning against Fenris for support rather than stay confined to his sickbed and miss everything, nodded. "So he got it from Emmen…"

"And Linian said Emmen went back for more!" Merrill remembered.

The Red Templar coughed, frothing the edges of his lips with red. Blood? Or lyrium? "So we followed him, din't we? Could always use a new source, and best not to go through the dwarf for it."

"Then you know where this cave is," Hawke realized. "I'm guessing we'll find Emmen there too?"

"Oh, you'll find  _something_  of him," the Red Templar laughed mirthlessly.

"What does that mean?" Merrill's eyes narrowed and the vines sprang up the man's limbs again, tightening as she leaned in. "Tell us what you mean by that! What have you done?"

Terrified and wide-eyed, Stormy shut up and shook his head. "You'll see," was all the more he would say.

"Fine, then," Hawke finally said, before Merrill could get it into her head to command the man's cooperation with blood magic. "You'll have to show us where this cave is, and then we'll see."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments/reviews are greatly appreciated and make excellent motivation to write more. :-D


	4. Wherein loves are gained and lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carver learns sometimes it's better *not* to talk to Merrill, and the Inquisition finds the source of the red lyrium.

****  
Hawkquisition Part II: The Apostate's Templar  
Chapter 4

_Wherein loves are gained and lost_

The setting sun only made the crystals of red lyrium, left behind where the Red Templar Horror had walked, look even redder, Merrill decided. It was spooky in their camp now, with everyone gone, but Carver was in no condition to move far, and Merrill had opted to remain behind and look after him, while the elves who had been taken by the Red Templars made their way back to the refugee camp and Hawke and the rest of them went looking for the cave Emmen had found. Merrill hoped the Red Templar marksman wouldn’t lead them astray, but even her naive optimism was yielding to doubt on that point. Nevertheless, Carver was leaving her little time to worry over their friends. He made a horrible patient, refusing to stay on his bedroll, following her around as she tried to cobble together something for them to eat, grousing nonstop about how he was missing out on the action, stuck here in camp. _Stuck with me,_ Merrill thought, but noted that Carver never actually said _that_.

“Liz is pregnant and _she_ even gets to go,” he was grumbling, sitting propped up against a tree trunk for dinner, as she handed him the bread and cheese she had found. “I’m not hurt that badly. Emmen is my responsibility, and - ”

“And mine too,” Merrill finally retorted. “And yet here I am, missing out on helping Hawke myself, listening to you whine.”

Carver actually dropped the bread, regarding her in shock. “Merrill, I - um. I didn’t mean - Oh, to the Void with it, I’m sorry. I’m being an ass again. You didn’t have to stay with me.”

She touched her hand lightly to his. “When you’ve been staying with me through so much trouble?” He blushed. “You know, Carver, you’re actually a very good man, for a shem.”

“For a shem?” he scowled. “I can’t tell if you just complimented me or insulted me.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean it that way! You are a shemlen, but that’s not always a bad thing,” she patted his arm reassuringly. “Hawke’s a shemlen too, but I like her. And you’re her brother.”

Carver rolled his eyes to the sky. “Why is it always about my sister? And why does everyone have to call her ‘Hawke’ anyway? You do know that’s actually the family name, and my sisters got names of their own. Bethany was my twin and Lisbet is my annoying older sister, the dazzling mage who can do no wrong, but we’re all Hawkes. You could call _me_ Hawke if you wanted to. In fact, you like the name so much, you could have...mine…” Trailing off, he dared to glance up at her, woefully, tentatively.

“But don’t you need it?” Merrill puzzled. “What would you do without a name?”

Carver sighed, deflated, sagging back against the tree. “Never mind, Merrill. Years of trying have not made me any better at this. I’m a mess when I talk to you.”

She pondered this, and carefully set the bread and cheese aside to scoot closer to him. “You could kiss me, then.”

“I - what!” He stared at her, frozen in place.

“If you want to, I mean. Oh, goodness. Maybe you don’t. I got that wrong again, didn’t I? I thought - ”

But he was already reaching for her, with hunger and a sort of fear in his eyes, pulling her down to him. There was a grunt of pain as she jostled his wounded side, and she opened her mouth in a hasty apology, but too late: she was on his lap, with his arms, strong and bold, clutching her and his mouth firm on hers, and there was only one way to apologize at that point. She leaned into the kiss, smiling against his mouth till she felt him smiling back, and then it was laughter that brought the kiss to an end. She gazed down at him; he beamed at her as she had never seen him do before, and she tangled her fingers in his hair and leaned her forehead against his.

“Merrill,” he breathed.

“Did I hurt you?” she asked.

“What? Kissing me?”

“No, no, I think I kicked you. When I was getting settled.”

“Oh, that. Forget it. Nothing hurts. You’re so light, so - _Merrill._ ”

Words seemed to have failed him, but she was used to that; she was usually the last to understand what people were talking about anyway, so what difference did it make if Carver was tongue-tied talking to her? She hadn’t even realized; he made as much sense to her as any shem did. More. She kissed him again, slower, carefully. He was still smiling.

* * *

“Maker,” Thayer groaned as the searchers rounded a corner in the narrow caverns to which the Red Templar, finally encouraged to honesty by Fenris’ special talents, had led them. The elven warrior had hold of the prisoner still, giving him no chance to escape or betray them.

“What is it?” asked Hawke, close on the Inquisitor’s heels.

“I’ve seen this before, I fear,” he answered. The others caught up to him and saw what had alarmed him so: the red glow of blighted lyrium coming from a corner, where a young elf lay on his side, chained to the cavern wall.

The glow was not just from lyrium deposits growing in the chamber. The red lyrium had taken hold of the boy himself. Veins of it twined along his arms, his throat; clusters of it had formed like warts on his body. “What have you done to him?” Fenris growled, shaking his prisoner.

“He asked for it!” the Red Templar protested. “Trying to profit off the supply here - well, it grows fastest in the blood, in the flesh, don’t it?”

“They’re using the boy as a planter,” Thayer said in a hushed whisper. “I saw this at Redcliffe. Dorian and I - but that was years into the future, a future that thankfully we stopped from happening.”

“Dorian. The Tevinter mage?” Fenris looked suspicious.

“He helped us stop it. His former master was experimenting with magic to alter time itself - creepy stuff, that. Sent us into a future where Corypheus had taken over. We saw people there, our friends even, like this boy, but further gone. They were being used as _planters_. Some of them were almost completely buried in the stuff, their bodies transformed into it. All so Corypheus could have his neverending supply of red lyrium.”

“So,” Varric ventured, “besides time travel, you know any other way to reverse the effects?”

Thayer’s expression, devoid of his usual unflappable cheer, was all the answer they got. “Let’s get him back to the camp,” the Inquisitor finally said.

* * *

They left none of the red lyrium deposits in the cave intact, save those that had ingratiated themselves into Emmen’s flesh and blood. They did leave the Red Templar there, however, tied loosely enough that he could escape once they were a safe distance away, granting him his life as promised but leaving him to preserve it further on his own. Thayer suspected, given the extent of the red lyrium corruption the archer had suffered, he would not have to preserve it for long.

Thayer and Fenris took turns carrying the elven boy back to the Red Templars’ camp. The sight that greeted them there, when they reached the camp at dawn, raised a few eyebrows and a few smiles: Merrill, tucked comfortably under Carver’s arm, giggling as she fed him bites of bread and cheese. Fenris exchanged a look with Hawke and murmured, “So that’s been resolved. A relief.” She only grinned back at him.

The adventurers’ return broke the lovers out of their idyll; seeing them, Merrill leapt up and ran over - then back to Carver, to help him stand and more slowly walk over with her. “Hawke!” she said. “What happened? Is anyone hurt? Did you find - ” She gasped then, as she saw what Thayer was carrying. “Emmen?”

“I’m sorry, Merrill,” Thayer said, lowering the boy to a bedroll. “We may have been too late.”

“Oh, Emmen!” Merrill threw her hands up to her face. “What am I going to tell Linian?”

Carver opened his mouth as if to make some smart remark, then thought better of it and just put an arm around the elven mage, drawing her against his side.

“I know of no way to cure him here,” Thayer continued, “but I thought perhaps if we take him back to Skyhold, the mages there may have some ideas.”

“Then that’s what we’ll tell Linian,” Carver resolved. “That’s some hope, at least.”

“Will you leave right away?” Merrill asked, looking sadly at the Inquisitor’s companions.

“The sooner the better,” Thayer replied. “I don’t know how much time he has.”

Merrill nodded. “Go, then. Mythal’s blessings…”

“Fenris,” Thayer said, “if you’ll help me get him up on the horse, he can ride in front of me and - ”

“Or you can just tie him in my saddle,” Hawke suggested. “Because I’m not going back just yet, Inquisitor.”

“Oh?” the Inquisitor looked mildly surprised.

“I’d like to stay till my brother’s back on his feet. If you don’t mind,” she added.

“I’m _standing_ on them at this very minute,” Carver pointed out.

“With assistance,” Lisbet smiled. “So don’t turn down more assistance, little brother. Besides, it looks like we have some catching-up to do.” She turned her smile on Merrill.

“Fine, then,” Thayer sighed. “Emmen on Hawke’s horse. I suppose you’ll walk back to Skyhold in your own good time, Hawke?”

“She can ride with me,” Fenris pointed out.

“Because of course you’ll be staying here with her. I should have seen that coming,” Thayer laughed. “Varric,” he raised a cautionary finger to the dwarf, “this is not the point where you jump in and volunteer to stay with them too. I do need someone to help me get this boy back to Skyhold.”

Varric heaved a deep sigh. “Fine, fine. Just don’t be long, Hawke? Skyhold’s no fun without you.”

“I promise I’ll be back before the baby’s born!” she laughed.

“And I’ll want to hear the whole story of whatever I miss,” Varric instructed her.

“One more thing,” Thayer said to Merrill. “These people of yours. I don’t know what plans they have, or what plans you have for them, but if any of them are looking for work, a place to settle - well, send them to us. We can fit them in. And the two of you too, if you like.”

“Goodness! In the Inquisition?” Merrill’s eyes shone as she took Carver’s hand. “Thank you, Inquisitor. We’ll...we’ll consider that.”

* * *

With Hawke and Fenris to help, they managed to get Carver safely back to the elves’ camp. The refugees, delighted to see their de facto Keeper, came to her one after another with questions and disputes and needs for reassurance, untiil Hawke, seeing how Merrill kept casting worried glances back at Carver, stepped in to help. Dubious of the shemlen mage, nevertheless the elves accepted Merrill’s dictum that Hawke’s word was to be obeyed as her own, and then the rest of the day was spent with Hawke, aided by a mostly silent Fenris, putting the refugees and their camp back into order while Merrill and Carver spoke quietly to Linian till her sobs had abated and the elven girl nodded, raising her chin to accept the hope that the Inquisition would find a way to cure her intended.

As the sun set, Hawke settled back into Fenris’ arms, her back safe against his chest, her cheek to his chin, where he sat before the common fire. “Not a bad day’s work,” she concluded.

“Mm,” he agreed, resting his hands, free of their gauntlets, in their usual place on her belly. It had become their nightly routine: he liked to think he could feel how it was growing now, imagining how the babe within was developing, though in reality from day to day it was hard to tell a difference.

Across the firepit, Merrill was adding something to the stewpot when Carver, walking stiffly but insisting on doing so unaided, came up behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders and a kiss on one pointed ear. Gasping, she dropped her spoon in the stewpot and turned to embrace him. Hawke chuckled. “Carver’s actually _smiling_ today, Fenris. Is the world coming to an end?”

“It was,” he drawled, “but the Inquisitor dealt with that.” He followed her gaze to see Hawke’s brother kissing the Dalish girl across the way. “Ugh.”

“What?” Hawke jabbed an elbow gently back at him. “I know you never liked my brother much, but does his happiness really offend you?”

“It’s not that. He might marry her. It occurred to me I might have to call the blood mage a relative.”

She laughed. “You like her better than your actual sister, at least. And with that competition, Merrill will be your son’s favorite aunt, for sure!”

He conceded that point with a deep chuckle. “You Hawkes do seem to be making a habit of marrying elves, though.”

“Oh, one is a habit now? Or am I setting a trend? Don’t say that to Carver, or he’ll break poor Merrill’s heart just to not be imitating me. Say, do you think it runs in the family? I wonder if Gamlen…? We could sneak a look at the books in the Blooming Rose.”

“Ugh. No.”

Her giggles turned into a sudden gasp of delight when she felt the baby suddenly join in the joke with a sharp kick. Fenris’ hands jolted away from her belly as he said something quick and sharp under his breath (swearing in Tevene again, she presumed) and, turning, she saw him gaping down at her, wide-eyed. “You felt it too!”

“He...seems to wish his presence known,” Fenris blinked, a slow smile lighting up his eyes.

“Maybe he’s warning us to stay out of Gamlen’s business.”

“For that, no warning is needed.”

“Or maybe he’s just happy that Uncle Carver’s happy.”

Fenris settled his arms back around her with a longsuffering sigh.

 


End file.
